


One of Many

by OnaDacora



Category: Undertale (Video Game), WTMYH
Genre: But it's part of WTMYH's canon so..., Dating, Fluff, Other, Reader has no defined gender, Sorry this isn't ACTUALLY Undertale, WTMYH - Freeform, You guys asked for this so here you go, college stuff, it's just fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-08-09 19:00:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7813462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnaDacora/pseuds/OnaDacora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You guys wanted a Reader/Deacon fic, so here you go. This is technically canon for the WTMYH timeline. Enjoy.</p><p>Go on a date with Deacon during his college years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One of Many

History was never your favorite subject, but seeing as it was required to get your degree, you soldiered through it. You took notes, you studied, but sometimes you still found yourself struggling with all the names and dates. Especially with European history. You always got all the kings with the same names all mixed up.

Class was over, and as everyone was filtering out of the room, you fixed your attention on your professor’s desk. You were sure you’d messed up a few details from last week, and you wanted to ask him a question. He was sifting through some folders, probably preparing for his next lesson, and _right_ as you were about to reach him—

“Sir. Mr. Landes.”

A boy your age —blonde, thin, wearing one of those athletic fit shirts that showed off his arms— cut through the crowd trying to leave the room, taking your place next to the professor’s desk. You recognized him as one of your classmates, but you didn’t remember his name. Maybe it was something like ‘Dillon’ or…

“Deacon,” Mr. Landes said, looking up from his desk. Your professor was an older gentleman, a little round in the middle with greying hair and a patient demeanor. But the look he gave Deacon was more exasperation than patience. “You missed class. Again.”

“I know,” he said, wincing and rubbing the back of his neck. The side of his hand ruffled his hair. “I was wondering, er, _hoping_ that I could get a copy of today’s notes. My bus—”

“I have another class in about ten minutes, and I don’t keep spare copies of my lesson plans to just hand out.” The professor shook his head, patting a manilla folder under his hand. “Don’t you have any friends in class you can talk to?”

Waiting patiently for your turn to speak to Mr. Landes, you couldn’t help feeling a little uncomfortable. Like you were eavesdropping. The last of your classmates had already left, and a few from next class were already taking their seats. At this rate you were going to have to come back and speak to him during office hours.

Deacon paused. “No,” he admitted. “I’m sorry I keep missing class. My bus was running late.”

“Then you should take an earlier bus.”

“I can’t. I have work with… my dad,” he said, but his nose scrunched when he said the word ‘dad’. Maybe things weren’t good at home? Not that it’s any of your business…

Mr. Landes fixed Deacon with an odd look, studying him for a moment before something in his expression softened. “Are you going to be on campus this afternoon around three?”

“I… Yes, sir.”

“Come by my office. There’s something I want to discuss with you about your transportation issue,” he said, and Mr. Landes’s face broke out into a kind smile. “But I’ve got another class here, so we’ll talk later, alright?”

Deacon, confused but clearly curious, nodded. “I’m sorry, about the notes…?”

“I can let you copy mine,” you said, finding your voice.

Deacon looked over at you, and you couldn’t help but notice those bright, clear blue eyes of his as his momentary surprise melted away into a charming smile. Oh, yikes, he was… He was stupidly attractive. You felt yourself smile back, awkward and more than a little self-conscious now that his attention was on you.

“I-if you have time before your next class anyway,” you continued in a rush, your fingers clutching at the straps of your backpack. “I’ve got like an hour.”

“Yeah, I do,” he said. “That’d be great.”

“Sure! I mean, it’s no problem.”

He turned to head out the door and you found yourself trailing after him, picking up your pace a little so you could fall into step beside him. Deacon glanced over at you as you did so, giving you a lopsided smile. When you reached the entrance to the building he pulled out ahead of you and pushed the door open, holding it for you as you follow. You smiled at him, he shrugged his shoulders, and again you were walking side-by-side down the sidewalk.

You weren’t really sure what to make of him. He didn’t really stand out in class, didn’t call much attention to himself, but he just seemed like he should be _popular._ Not that popularity really translated from high school; you’d found that out in your first year. Most of the students at your college were there to learn, because they _wanted_ to be there. Aside from the sororities and frats, there weren’t any real defined cliques. Oh, maybe he was in a frat? He looked like the kind of guy that wouldn’t have a problem getting accepted.

“So what’s your major?” Deacon asked you, pulling you out of your thoughts. That always seemed to be the typical ice breaker on campus. It was an easy way to make conversation.

“Undecided,” you said, giving a helpless shrug. “What about you?”

“History,” he said. “With a minor in education.”

“Oh, wow.” You looked over at him, but his attention was on a scattering of lunch tables. He angled himself towards an empty one and you adjusted your path to follow. “So you really know what you want to do then. History teacher?”

“No, doctor, obviously,” he said, deadpan. For a second you didn’t quite catch his sarcasm, so when you looked at him with surprise he just laughed. “Yes, history teacher. What else do you do with a history major, honestly?”

“...Archeology?” you offered, feeling your cheeks warm.

“Heh, no thanks. I don’t think the Indiana Jones look would suit me.” Deacon shrugged off his messenger bag, setting it down on the lunch table bench before sliding in next to it. You took the spot across from him, laying your backpack down. “I don’t really like hats.”

“Really? I think you’d look great,” you said, before you could stop yourself. He grinned and you bit the inside of your lip, turning away and unzipping your bag to fish out your notes.

“I’ll take your word for it, maybe keep it in mind for Halloween,” he said, playing it off.

Pulling out your folder, you flipped it open to find today’s notes, and that’s when you remembered. “Oh, shit, I meant to ask Mr. Landes about something. Dammit…”

Deacon arched a brow, glancing over at you as he went through his own bag for a notebook and pencil. “What did you need to ask him?”

You hesitated, unsure if you should admit your mistake, but you decided to go ahead. You flipped back to last week’s notes, pointing out where they didn’t quite line up with what you’d written today. Deacon squinted, following your finger, then reached into his bag again. He pulled out a pair of black-framed glasses, slipping them on and scanning the page again. Somehow he managed to look even more attractive, damn him.

“Oh, you just mixed up some of the dates. Here, I’ve got my notes, we can get yours sorted out,” he said, winking at you. You blushed.

He shifted forward in his seat, leaning over the table as he pulled your two sets of papers closer together. Mulling over the notes, he alternated between tapping the eraser of his pencil against his lips and making clean, legible notations in the margin of your notebook. Corrections to what you’d written without marking over your own work. You caught yourself staring, watching him as his eyes scanned down the words and that little crease formed between his brows whenever he’d look from page to page before writing. His hair fell in front of his face and he combed his fingers through it to push it back again.

“Well, I think…” Deacon trailed off as he looked up from the notes, catching your eye. It’s then that you realized that you’d leaned in a little closer than strictly necessary, on top of staring at him like some kind of weirdo. You quickly leaned away, rubbing your face as if you could hide or maybe even scrub away your embarrassment. He just gave you that crooked smile again, tapping your notes with the end of his pencil. His eyes darted down and then back up again, looking at you. “I think that should get you all fixed up. You take really thorough notes.”

“Uh, thanks,” you mumbled, unsure of what else to say to his compliment.

“Really. These will be a huge help.” He flipped his notebook to a blank page and started to copy what he needed.

You did your best not to just sit there and watch him this time, instead pulling your phone out of your pocket and checking your notifications. Nothing important, but you fiddled around on it anyway, anything to keep yourself distracted. A few minutes passed in awkward (at least for you) silence, save for the soft scratch of Deacon’s neat pencil-strokes and the coos of some nearby pigeons that were eyeing the two of you. Probably waiting for scraps; the campus pigeons were incredibly ballsy. The squirrels too.

“So…” Deacon said, drawing out the syllable as he glanced up at you, over the frames of his glasses. He pressed the bridge of them with the butt of his pencil, pushing them back up his nose. Why was that so cute? “This whole sitting in silence thing. I can copy notes and hold a conversation, we don’t have to pretend like we’re not sitting here together. Unless you’d rather crush the candies or whatever kids do these days on their cellular phones.”

It took you a second of staring at him with a dumbfounded expression before your face twisted with exasperation and you couldn’t help but laugh. He just smiled at you as you shook your head, doing your best to regain control of the muscles in your face. Unfortunately they just weren’t listening to your demands to stop smiling. “Cellular phones?” you managed to say, arching a brow.

“Yes, that’s right,” he said, somehow maintaining that placid smile. “I hear they’re all the rage.”

“Oh my god, _stop._ How old are you, even?” you demanded, folding your arms on the table in front of you as you fixed him with a scrutinizing look.

“Twenty,” he said, returning his attention to the notes. “You?”

You told him, and as the two of you made small talk the mood seemed to lighten. Talking to him was easier, you didn’t feel so embarrassed. Still nervous, sure, but you had the feeling that even if you continued to make an ass out of yourself he wouldn’t call you on it. It was nice, not feeling that pressure.

Maybe part of it was just typical politeness when getting to know someone new, but you just had the feeling that Deacon was a _kind_ person.

When he finished with your notes he closed your notebook and pushed it back over towards you with a smile. “Thanks again. This was a big help, honestly.”

“It’s nothing,” you insisted, putting your things away. “Mr. Landes was being kind of a hard-ass, what was up with that?”

Deacon tipped his head to the side, rubbing the back of his neck as he grimaced. “I’ve dealt with harder asses. And I mean, it’s not _his_ fault I missed class. For like the fourth time this month. Seriously, it’s not a big deal. Besides, now I’ve got this mystery meeting to go to later. Any guesses?”

“Uhh…?” you offered, helpfully.

He huffed a laugh. “Right?” Deacon pulled his phone out of his pocket, checking the time. “Hey, you said you only had an hour and it’s been like forty-five minutes. But I want to thank you properly for your notes—”

“Oh, no, Deacon you don’t need to do anything! You helped me, too. We’re even,” you blurted out, eyes widening.

“Are you going to be around at like four or five? I’ve got a big gap around dinner time,” he said, ignoring your protests.

“I, uh, yeah,” you admitted, unable to lie. “I live on campus and my last class is at three.”

“Let me buy you dinner. There’s that restaurant over by the stadium, won’t even have to go far.” He smiled at you, pushing up from his seat and slinging his bag over his shoulder. He still had his phone in his hand.

You hesitated, tempted but still apprehensive. He _really_ didn’t owe you anything!

“Hey,” he said, resting his hand on the table where you were still sitting, looking up at him. Deacon’s expression had softened, and there was something earnest in the way he was watching you. “If you don’t want to think of it as me paying you back, then how about just because I’d really like to get dinner with you later. Besides, don’t you want the inside scoop on this mystery meeting?”

He… wanted to get dinner with you? Like, as a date? Was he asking you out on a date? He didn’t _say_ date, but… You needed to answer him! You were just gaping at him like a fish! “I, um, I mean, _yeah,_ sure! You know, so I can find out about your thing.” Oh god. You kicked yourself internally, stumbling for something else to say. “Your meeting with Mr. Landes. That thing.”

Deacon’s smile turned mischievous, chuckling as he raised his phone. “Can I, uh, get your number? In case I need to get in touch with you before then. Like if something comes up. I wouldn’t want you to think I was standing you up.”

You didn’t even have to think about it. You gave Deacon your number.

* * *

Deacon was waiting for you, leaning against the outside of the restaurant. One hand was behind his head, the other hooked on the pocket of his jeans, and later, when you sat down to really think about it, you wondered if he’d posed himself like that on purpose. But in that moment, walking up the path towards him, you were too busy just staring at him to care.

This couldn’t actually be happening. There was no way that someone like _him_ could ever be interested in someone like you. Was this some kind of joke, or was he just trying to use you? As you looked at him and your mind strayed towards dangerous places, you wondered if you cared. You were young, in college, wasn’t this the time to just let these sorts of things happen?

He hadn’t spotted you yet, his head turned away as he looked out over the sports complex nearby. And as your pace slowed and you agonized over the self-enforced choice ahead of you, you decided: screw it. You were going to see what happened.

Deacon chose that moment to glance your way, and the smile on his face the moment he saw you was enough to stir the butterflies in your stomach. If you’d had any lingering doubts about this decision they were definitely gone now. If _he_ wanted to spend time with _you,_ you were going to seize that opportunity.

You smiled back, shy but pleased as you raised one hand to give him a little wave, moving faster now that he’d seen you. He shifted his weight, pushing off from the wall with his shoulders and rocking his hips forward, ruffling his hair before starting a slow walk to meet you. Adjusting his bag (you’d taken yours back to your dorm after your last class) he moved ahead of you to open the door.

“Thanks,” you said, glancing back at him as he followed you inside. “I’m sorry if I kept you waiting.”

He shook his head. “No way, I was just early. How were the rest of your classes?”

You started to tell him as you walked past the ‘Seat Yourself’ sign to find a table. The restaurant wasn’t anything fancy, a step down from a chain like Applebee’s. They mostly served sandwiches and burgers, things that didn’t require much in the way of actual _cooking._ The floors were old unfinished wood, there was a pool table off to the side and a pair of dart boards, and the walls were covered in school memorabilia. Jerseys and photos, posters and sports banners, they had a definite _theme_ going, and that theme was school pride. It was cute your first year, but now it was just a bit nauseating.

The two of you claimed an empty booth, and before you even had time to settle into your seat a waiter in shorts and a t-shirt with the restaurant’s logo came to get your drink orders. He pointed you towards the menus already waiting at the end of your table and walked off again. Deacon grabbed two of them and passed you one.

“So I’m sure you’re _dying_ from suspense,” Deacon said, catching your eye with an amused grin.

“Oh! Your thing with Mr. Landes,” you said, leaning forward a little. “Yeah, tell me!”

“So, turns out that he’s got this old car he’s been looking to sell. It’s old, like, older than us combined probably, but he says it’s in working order. It _runs_ basically,” he said with a wry look. “He wanted to know if I was interested.”

You just wait, but he doesn’t continue. “Aaand? Are you going to buy it? How much does he want?” you asked, gesturing impatiently.

“I guess he doesn’t really need the money because he’s only asking for a couple hundred,” he said, that smile fading just a little. His eyes lower to his menu. Then he perks up again, his smile going crooked. “Yeah, I think I’m going to buy it. It’d be the first step to: A, not missing so many damn classes and B, getting my own place. And if I’m not dropping a few thousand dollars on a down payment on a car, it means I can get this tattoo I’ve wanted done sooner.”

“A tattoo?”

He nodded, then raised his right arm and stretched it across the table. “Yeah. A whole sleeve. I’m thinking like, lighting and ravens.”

“That won’t be difficult with you wanting to be a teacher?” you asked.

“That’s what long sleeves are for. I’m not worried,” he said, shrugging. “Besides, a lot of places are getting more open-minded about tattoos, as long as they’re not offensive.”

“Well then it’s a good thing you’re getting ravens instead of tits,” you said, trying to stifle a giggle at your own joke. “Or blue-footed boobies.”

Deacon snorted, pulling his arm back as he shook with laughter. “Nice,” he said, pointing at you. “Very nice.”

“Thank you,” you said, pressing a hand to your chest and taking a small bow. “I liked that one.”

Your waiter returned with your drinks, and after taking your food order disappeared again. He wasn’t overly friendly, more abrupt than anything, but that was fine. You had Deacon for company, and he was more than happy to talk. You both talked about your classes, and it turned out that he’d already had some of the ones you were currently taking. He also offered some advice for a few classes you had yet to take and which teachers to avoid if you could. You made a few notes to yourself in your phone so you wouldn’t forget, and he seemed glad to help.

The food was okay, but the conversation was better, and when the check came he grabbed it before you could even make a reach for it and wouldn’t let you look. After a couple weak protests (and feeling a little guilty because to be honest, money was tight for you and a free dinner was kind of a big deal) you accepted the inevitable and just thanked him.

There was still time before Deacon’s last class and you didn’t have anything else to do, so when he asked you if you wanted to play pool with him you were more than happy to accept. To be honest, you weren’t really ready to go your separate ways. You were having too much fun.

Neither of you were very good, but that wasn’t really the point. No, instead you had a handful of exchanges where you were both clearly flirting. It was your turn and he was standing right where you needed to be to make you shot, and when you walked over to him he just looked at you with an arched brow and a crooked smile.

“You’re in my way,” you said, making a shooing gesture with your hands.

“Oh, am I?” he asked with feigned innocence, taking a half-step backwards.

You looked at him, feeling a little bold now that you’d gotten more comfortable and had decided at the start of this date that you’d just let things _happen._ So you stepped in close to him, brushing against his arm as you positioned yourself to take your shot. He didn’t move away, and as you were lining up your cue he lightly touched your back. Surprised and a little startled, you jumped and caught the side of the ball, barely sending it moving at all.

“No cheating,” you said, turning to look at him as your heart hammered in your chest. “You made me mess up my shot.”

“Sorry,” he said, not looking sorry at all.

A few turns later he was at your side again, and you felt his eyes on you as you bent over the table to get yourself in a good position. That was a little embarrassing, you had to admit, feeling a little bit… exposed like that.

“Hey,” he said, catching you right as you were about to shoot. You glanced over at him. “Can I show you something?”

You knew how to play pool. You also knew that he really wasn’t any better at this than you were, and you suspected that this was just some kind of ploy to get in close to you. But it was a ploy you were more than willing to fall for.

“Yeah, okay,” you said, hoping that you sounded suitably casual. Casual enough to not give away the buzz of excitement as he smiled at you again.

Deacon circled you to stand behind you, reaching to cover your hands with his. His chest was against your back, you could feel him talking, and it took all your scattered focus to listen as he shifted your angle. It meant that he slid both your hands across the fabric of the table, and he rested his other hand on your hip to shift you forward just a bit to compensate. You’re sure that if you weren’t about to melt from the overwhelming mix of nerves and anticipation this would have actually been helpful. Instead you just messed up the shot, but you relished the small squeeze he gave you before letting you go.

“Sorry, that’s probably my fault,” he said, and you see that he’s gone red up the sides of his neck and up to his ears when you turn to look at him.

“No, I think I messed it up,” you countered, twisting the cue between your hands.

You shared an awkward laugh and Deacon let you take another shot, this time without his ‘help’. You ended up winning that game, only because he sunk the eight ball too soon.

It was getting close to the time for his last class, you could see it in the way he kept checking his phone. Finally, after you finished one last game, he sighed and said that he should probably get going. The disappointment in his tone was endearing, and it just made it harder for you to agree. As much as you wanted to spend more time with him, you didn’t want him to miss his class.

When you said you needed to head back to your dorm he offered to walk you. When he reassured you it wouldn’t make him late you accepted. Who were you to say no to a little more time?

He had you laughing the whole way across campus, and you barely even noticed when you reached your building. You thought maybe he’d leave you there at the entrance but he didn’t. He followed you onto the elevator and up to your floor. He kept the conversation going while you were in the elevator, just standing beside you, not moving in too close in the confined space and then holding the door as he let you out first. You led him toward your dorm, fishing for your key as he followed after you.

It was there, standing in front of your door, that you turned to face him. He had his thumbs hooked on his pockets, watching you with a curious look on his face. You both must have been wondering the same thing: what should we do now? You forced an awkward smile, your nerves sending your stomach into flip-flops.

“Thank you for dinner,” you said, clearing your throat after your voice sounded a little strained. “And everything. This was a lot of fun.”

Deacon nodded, smiling warmly. “Me too. It’s a shame I’ve got class.”

“Yeah…” Your voice trailed off, glancing from him to your dorm and back again. “Well, I mean, you should… and _I_ should…”

He stepped in closer, whatever you were about to say flying out of your head. His eyes searched your face, darting down to your mouth and back up to meet yours. He wet his lips. “I want to kiss you,” he said, leaning towards you but stopping. Waiting. How could he just say that so easily? “If you’ll let me?”

“Yes. Yeah, I mean, sure, I—”

He saved you from yourself, closing the gap and reaching up to cup the side of your neck as he pressed his lips to yours. Your eyes snapped shut, letting out a soft, pleased sound as you leaned into him, resting a hand on the front of his chest to steady yourself. His mouth was soft, and a tiny, panicked voice in the back of your head just hoped that he was enjoying kissing you as you were enjoying kissing _him._ Because you’d kissed some good kissers and some bad kissers, and Deacon was… He was great. He should give lessons. Maybe you could ask him for lessons and it would give you an excuse to kiss him more.

Deacon tipped his chin down, just enough to break contact, then leaned in for one last brief kiss to punctuate it before pulling back. It took you a second to remember to open your eyes, and when you did he was just watching you, a pleased and clearly self-satisfied look on his face. You gave a flustered chuckle and he just grinned at you.

“Are you sure you have to go to class?” you blurted out, hopeful.

He laughed, tipping his head to the side. “Yeah, I’m afraid so. But we can do this again. Who knows, maybe I’ll have a car and we can go someplace nicer.”

“I’d like that,” you said. “The doing this again part, not the someplace nicer part. That doesn’t matter.”

“Okay. I’ll call you, or catch you after class,” he said, stroking your jaw with his thumb. You wish that he’d hold you, or at least hug you but he didn’t. He just kept that hand on the side of your neck. The other was still hooked on his pants. “It’s a date.”

Deacon leaned in for another kiss but pulled back before you could wrap your arms around him. Feeling flushed and worked up, he left you like that, standing in front of your dorm and wanting more as he gave you a little wave and walked away.

**Author's Note:**

> I might do another chapter to this, but I'm not sure yet. I'm marking it as complete for now, but keep an eye out just in case? Or follow my tumblr. Whatever you guys want to do. <3


End file.
